


Some Cheese With That Whine

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-19 02:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7341754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke figures if she's going on bad dates all the time anyway, she might as well go to the restaurant where Bellamy works, so he can witness the badness. Bellamy's fine with that, so long as he never has to witness a date that goes well.</p>
<p>Luckily, Clarke's mom only ever seems to set her up with douchebags, so he thinks he's pretty safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Cheese With That Whine

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for the prompt: Clarke is on date and Bellamy is their waiter. Clarke's date is being really rude to Bellamy. Clarke is appalled and ditches her date and apologizes to Bellamy. He asks if she wants to go on a date with him. Hope you're inspired! Thanks!

"Do you have some kind of dates-with-douchebags rewards card?" Raven is asking Clarke, when Bellamy gets to them at the bar.

"I have no idea what that means," says Clarke, and bumps her shoulder against Bellamy's, all warm camaraderie. "Hey."

"Hey. Are we talking about douchebags again? I got some good ones today."

"You always do," says Clarke.

"Clarke had another date with someone her mom knew, so I assume she's in a reward program," Raven supplies, and Bellamy makes a face. Clarke's mother gave her a three-month mourning period after she and Lexa broke up and then decided to start acting as Clarke's own personal dating service, setting her up on date after date with _nice boys from good families_. Clarke is still going primarily for the free food, as far as he knows. And out of some perverse curiosity about whether or not her mother will ever find someone she actually likes.

He doesn't live in terror of that happening, not really, but he'd like to figure out how to make a move himself before one of them does go right. Generally speaking.

"What would a dates-with-douchebags rewards card involve?" Clarke asks, sounding thoughtful. "I could definitely use one. Is it like those free sandwich cards? I don't want a free date with a douchebag after I go on ten dates. That's like getting an extra punch in the face after you already got in a fistfight." She flags Gina down and gets a beer for herself and a gin and soda for him. "What happened with you?"

"The usual. Guy came in and wanted to impress his date with how cool and special he was, so he showed it by being a dick to me. Nothing says _I'm a big deal_ like treating your waiter like scum."

"Yeah, I've noticed that. My date did the same thing."

"Of course he did."

"My mom knows how to pick them."

He takes a sip of his gin and soda. "Depending on what she's trying to pick, yeah. How's school going, Raven?"

Raven's in her first year of teaching college, so her ranting about her students gets them through most of the night. It's not that Bellamy doesn't like hearing Clarke make fun of rich assholes--he honestly likes it so much it might count as a kink at this point--but it's harder and harder to not feel jealous too.

Which is why it's so, so terrible when she leans against him two hours later, tipsy and happy, and says, "I should come to you."

"Good news, you're already at me. You did it."

"Not _now_."

"Oh yeah, obviously. I don't know why I assumed."

She laughs, burying her face against his shoulder, and he has to smile. He nearly ducks his head to kiss her hair, but he manages to restrain himself somehow. He should get an award for how much he doesn't hit on Clarke Griffin. "I'm trying to tell you my plan."

"A plan, huh? That's pretty serious."

"You can be my dates-with-douchebags rewards card."

"I really didn't know you were this drunk."

"You can verify that they're terrible and then when I'm done with dinner, we can walk over here together and get drunk."

It is simultaneously an awesome idea and a terrible one, because obviously he's into spending more time with her, and making fun of dicks is one of their favorite group activities. But she might hit a good date someday, and he can think of few things worse than witnessing Clarke making a genuine connection with some guy twelve tax brackets above him, one of the people her mother thinks she _should_ be dating. 

But she looks so happy, all lit up with excitement, and he doesn't actually know how to say no to more time with Clarke. He's gone to graduation parties for people he doesn't know, black-tie galas, and weird modern art shows just because she asked, and he's going to keep saying yes to these stupid schemes because they're her schemes. That's just how it is.

"I'll send you my schedule for next week," he says, and she grins.

"This is going to be awesome."

Bellamy works a few nights a week at a fancy restaurant while he's in grad school, and it's going to give him gray hairs at fucking twenty-eight. It's not like every customer is terrible, it's just that there are very rarely _good_ interactions, ones that make him really happy, and so many more bad ones. The last restaurant he worked at, the pay was worse, but it was a family place, so he'd at least get in kids who said ridiculous shit and drunk college kids who were kind of hilarious. Now it's all anniversaries for couples who don't care about their marriages anymore, young professionals who have decided they should celebrate their birthdays like adults, and guys (sometimes girls, but mostly guys) trying to impress their dates with how refined and wealthy they are.

Also known as: Clarke's demographic.

The first night she comes in with a guy who's basically Bellamy's worst nightmare. He's six-foot-something, blonde-haired and blue-eyed, like Clarke but more threatening, with a jaw that looks like it was sculpted from marble. And he's rich and broad-shouldered and he and Clarke would have a ton of Aryan babies with perfect posture and terrifying ambition.

But she rolls her eyes at him as soon as she realizes he's looking at her, and sticks her finger down her throat while they guy's back is turned. 

They get seated in his section, and the guy orders for Clarke, which always pisses her off. Bellamy brings her a different wine than the one he picked, one he knows she likes, and almost brings her the wrong entree too, except that the guy would make a scene, and Bellamy might get in trouble, which would just make Clarke feel shitty. But he can at least help out a little.

She ditches the guy after they're done and sneaks back in to sit at the bar, and Bellamy can't keep a stupid grin off his face.

"How much did he tip?"

"Eight percent."

"Wow."

"I think he didn't do the math, just assumed it was enough. Getting the bill up to a round number."

"Sorry. I'll leave a giant bar tip."

He smiles. "Which goes to the bartender."

"You say it's weird when I tip you."

"It is. Buy me a beer tomorrow and we'll call it even." There's a lull in the crowd, so he sits down next to her. "How bad was he?"

"Total asshole. Just wanted to talk about investment banking and the gym. I'm not sure he knows there are places in the world that aren't work or the gym. Or, you know. Places he went on spring break and got his dick sucked."

"Those are my three favorite places too," he teases, and she shoves him, rolling her eyes.

"Please, yours are school, the bar, and my couch."

"Not in that order," he says.

She rewards him with a grin. "How much longer are you on shift?"

"Til eleven."

"Want to come to your favorite place after?"

"I don't know if you mean the bar or your couch. But either way, yeah."

She leaves the restaurant bar a little before eleven and is waiting in the passenger seat of his car--because of course she has a key to his car, why wouldn't she have a key to his car, she's _Clarke_ \--playing on her phone.

"So, my place?" she asks, and he smiles.

"That's my favorite, yeah."

She ends up coming in about once a week, mostly with big, all-American dudes who look like they could take Bellamy in a fight but definitely couldn't, because Bellamy actually knows how to have a fight instead of going to the gym all the time, but sometimes with terrifyingly competent girls who seem like Clarke, but way less fun. According to Clarke, they're not universally terrible, but she's never fit in all that well with people like that. Her only friend from her mother's social circle is Wells, and he's nothing like any of the people she goes on dates with. Wells has a personality; Clarke's dates have a list of skills and related experience from LinkedIn.

"Honestly, the only thing we have in common is that we like drinking, and that's if I'm lucky," Clarke says. She's propped up against his side, and he's idly carding his fingers through her hair until she tells him to stop. So far, she's showing no sign of it. "But none of them ever ask me to go to a dive bar and play beer pong."

"Most dive bars don't want you to play beer pong. That's more of a basement activity."

"Fine, darts. I'm awesome at darts."

"You nearly stabbed me in the arm with a dart last year."

"Just because you don't know how to watch where you're going!"

He grins and slots his arm around her. "So that's your ideal first date, huh? Dive bar, darts?"

"That's pretty good, yeah. Somewhere real, you know?"

"Jesus, you sound like a douchebag."

"Shut up. Do you know how hard it is to get to know someone at a restaurant? Especially a fancy one when the guy just wants to impress you with how much he knows about wine."

"And none of your dates know anything about wine," he points out.

She grins up at him. "They know about expensive wine shit. They just don't know I'm into cheap wine."

"Because they're not taking you to a dive bar to see your shitty drinking habits."

"Exactly."

He sighs, leans back and closes his eyes. "Why are you still doing this?"

He's not really expecting an answer, not a real one, but when she goes quiet, he realizes that's what he's going to get. 

"I just--it's nice to be able to say I'm trying, you know? When people ask. I'm putting myself out there."

"Seriously?"

"Kind of?" She runs her hand through her hair. "Maybe it's a girl thing. Marriage clock is ticking or whatever."

"Maybe it's a you thing."

"It's one night a week. And it's a lot better since I started going to your place. Now I get to make fun of them with someone who gets it."

It's on the tip of his tongue to tell her she should just go out with him, but they're watching Chopped and someone just fucked up, so Clarke starts yelling at the TV and he keeps his mouth shut.

She's coming home with him. That's more than enough for a start.

The guy the next Thursday doesn't seem particularly different from any of the others on first sight. He's half a foot taller than Bellamy with straight brown hair and a kind of douchey goatee, but they're all somehow douchey, so it's not like that stands out. Clarke makes a face at Bellamy when she catches his eye, as usual, but when he goes over to take their drink orders, her date snaps, "Can you give us a second to breathe? Jesus Christ. Can you believe how pushy these guys are?"

Clarke's eyes flash with annoyance, and she turns to Bellamy with a distant, polite smile, like she doesn't know him. He's not sure why they pretend they aren't friends when he's working, but they always do. It's kind of fun, having a secret. "Actually, I'm really thirsty. I would love a water."

"Sure, I'll bring that right over."

"Restaurants want you out so quickly these days, they just hustle you through, don't even care I'm paying good money for an experience," he hears the guy saying as he was leaving. "When I was a kid--"

He's probably younger than Bellamy, so talking about the good old days seems excessive, but he's clearly a next-level dick, so it shouldn't be a surprise. He brings the water back basically immediately, just to be a dick, and when her date huffs, Clarke orders wine, and he begrudgingly does too, presumably because he doesn't want to be left behind on the drinking.

He has one of those insanely complicated dinner orders where he specifies _everything_ , down to the specific kinds of greens he does and does not want in his salad. Even worse, he acts like this makes him somehow refined and better than other people, like telling Bellamy he only wants spinach is some kind of life hack.

Clarke tries to order off the menu, and he corrects her.

"Is that really what you'd like?" he can't help asking, when she hides her scowl in her wineglass.

"Just take the order," her date snaps.

"No," Clarke says at the same time. "I want it how it is on the menu."

"My way is better," says her date. "She wants it--"

"I think she knows how she wants it," Bellamy can't help saying, and the guy scoffs and actually stands. Clarke does too, looking more pissed than he's ever seen her. Which, given it's Clarke, is saying something.

"Look, buddy, I know she's cute, but you need to back the fuck off. What do you think is gonna happen? She's going to decide you brought her water so fast, she'll go home with you instead of me? You're a goddamn waiter, so do your job and fuck off."

He's maybe going to get fired no matter what; he has no idea if the manager knows he and Clarke are friends, but they're making one hell of a scene either way.

But he still shouldn't fight the guy if he can possibly help it. Just to keep the moral high ground, if nothing else.

"Asking me what I want to eat is his job," Clarke snaps, before he can say anything. "And you know what? I'm pretty sure I _am_ going home with him and not you, so I wouldn't get cocky if I were you."

"Sure you--"

Clarke pulls Bellamy down to her and kisses him before her date can say anything else. He can feel the tension in her whole body, the way she's shaking with adrenaline and rage, and he takes it on himself to calm her down a little, rubbing his hand over her back, moving his mouth against hers, slow and easy, until she relaxes against him.

When he pulls away, he only has a second to try to understand her expression--eyes still closed, mouth still parted but growing into a smile--before he gets punched.

The guy has a lot of muscle, but no technique, so while it still hurts, it's far from the worst blow Bellamy's ever taken. It takes him a minute to recover, and by the time he does, Clarke is already kneeing her date in the balls. Which, again, good, because it's possible he won't get fired for his current level of involvement in this situation. He can definitely explain. Honestly, he hasn't done anything wrong.

"Are you okay?" she asks, looking worried. Her date is in a crumpled ball, half collapsed on a chair.

"Yeah, nothing broken."

"Fuck, I'm sorry."

"No big deal," he says. "Just tell my manager you started it and we're even."

"And pretend I don't know you," she adds, soft, and he gives her half a smile.

"I assume you kiss all your waiters, yeah."

"As much as possible." She worries her lip. "Sorry, we shouldn't have--coming here was a bad idea."

"If you're going to kiss your waiter, I want to be the waiter you're kissing," he says, before he can think better of it. "But yeah, pretend you don't know me. And come back after."

"That'll work well."

"I'm pretty sure Emori's seen you around before," he says. "But she's also pretty cool, so she's not going to fire me unless she has to."

Her date groans, and she makes a face. "I guess I should drag him out and dump his ass. Good luck not getting fired."

"Are you sure you want to be alone with him? He seems violent."

"I'll be okay," she says, smiling. "I'm not going far." She pecks him on the cheek. "Have a good rest of your shift. Sorry you're not getting a tip."

"As long as I don't get fired, I don't care. See you later."

As it turns out, he doesn't get fired, and Emori is mostly annoyed he doesn't want to press charges. Which he will, if the guy gives Clarke any more trouble, but he thinks it would be better to just never see him again if that doesn't happen.

"I don't care what weird kinks you and your girlfriend have," Emori says, watching as Clarke comes back in and heads to the bar. "Knock yourselves out, if that's what you're into. Just keep it out of here, okay? I've got enough to deal with with fucking Murphy."

"Really not what happened," he says. "But I'm pretty sure it won't happen again."

He doesn't make it back to Clarke for almost forty minutes, but as soon as he does, she says, "Fuck, I'm so sorry. Not fired?"

"Not fired. Don't apologize, it's not your fault."

"I brought him here."

He wets his lips; she _kissed him_. Now's probably the time to say something, just because he wants her to kiss him again so much. It was bad enough, before he knew what it was like to have her melting into his arms. Now that he does, he's not going to be able to resist for long.

"You can make it up to me."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking dive bar."

"Diver than our usual bar?"

He raises his eyebrows. "Somewhere with beer pong. Or, failing that, darts." When she still doesn't seem to get it, he swallows and says, "You know, first-date place."

He only has a minute to be nervous before her face blooms into a huge grin, and then she presses her mouth against his again, fast and delighted, just for a second. He probably isn't supposed to get kissed this much at work, but he's happy for the reassurance that he didn't fuck it up.

"We've gone to a billion dive bars. I think you already know me pretty well."

"I hope so, yeah."

"So we could just go to your favorite place instead."

It takes him a second to remember too, and then he starts to grin too. "Your couch?"

"You love my couch."

"I do. I'm done at eleven."

"I know." She pecks the side of his mouth again, soft. "I'll be waiting."

His shift has never gone so slowly, but at the end, Clarke is in his car, and when he kisses her, she kisses back, tries to get into his lap even with the steering wheel in the way. He laughs against her mouth, gives her a final peck before he pushes her off. His grin must be a mile wide.

"You can just kiss me when we get back to your place," he points out. "No rush."

"No rush," Clarke agrees, but she still insists on taking his hand while he drives. Not that he's objecting; any indication she's just as happy about this as he is works for him. And by every indication, she is.

He squeezes her fingers. "You know, next time you want me to know you want to go out with me, don't go on a bunch of blind dates with assholes. Just tell me."

"I didn't really want you to know," she admits.

"Oh. Well, next time you should want me to know, too."

She ducks her head, laughing. "Yeah. Next time."

His next shift is Wednesday, and she comes in to sit at the bar without any fanfare. He doesn't even notice when she gets there, honestly, just catches sight of her, chatting with Murphy and eating some overly fancy fries, on his way to the kitchen.

He gives her a quick kiss. "What are you doing here?"

"Date night, right?"

"It's not much of a date if I'm working."

"You're not working the whole night," she says. "Besides, I kind of like going somewhere fancy every week. And you hate fancy places, so this is a good compromise. I get to hang out, see my boyfriend, and take you home after. And no douchebag rich boys." She beams at him, so clearly proud of herself he can't help but lean in for a kiss. 

"No douchebag rich boys is a big plus."

"Right? It's perfect."

Murphy gives him a supremely unimpressed look, probably because he's grinning like an idiot. "Perfect," he agrees. "See you at eleven."


End file.
